The penthouse felt strangely better without medicine bottles everywhere.
And honestly?
That alone felt like progress.
One full week.
Seven entire days of forcing Adrian Voss to rest like an emotionally constipated Victorian man recovering from war.
And somehow—
he survived.
Barely.
I stood near the kitchen island sipping coffee while watching Amelia dramatically zip up her designer suitcase.
“You own too many clothes,” I informed her.
Amelia looked offended immediately.
“That sounds poor.”
“You’re leaving for London not relocating permanently.”
“Fashion requires options.”
“Does it require six pairs of sunglasses?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“In case I become emotionally mysterious.”
I snorted into my coffee.
Meanwhile Adrian walked into the kitchen adjusting the cuff of his black shi
